


Lights for the Dead Eyes

by ilspooner



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, Fantasy, Horror, Surreal, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8950426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilspooner/pseuds/ilspooner
Summary: A twisted maze of impenetrable dark, for some. For others, a forest alive with unnatural colours, a long, winding path towards something that lurks deep within.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A short, surreal horror piece about sacrifice and individuality (and its ramifications).

At first there was nothing but the inky blackness of night, the chill of biting wind, and the crunching of small feet on leaves. No lanterns or candles were to be brought, and none were. There was no need. As they walked, the ground had begun to shine as bright as the sun. The first light along the winding path bloomed with a brilliant red, blood-red streaks cracking through the moist earth. The old trees, gnarled and black, glistened with a soft radiance. None stopped to admire the light. All kept their slow, steady pace, through the dead of night, through the shimmering red.  
After the next mile the red light died underneath their tread. It was as though one step took them from the crimson glow into abyssal darkness. For what felt like hours, there was nothing but darkness. All kept their steady pace. There was no time to be afraid, to shiver in the cold and loneliness. So the children walked.  
They only walked for a few seconds before the second light came alive. One of the trees that blended into the oily sheen of the night sky spread its branches and revealed a deep blue glow. It brought the night into day, bathing all in its deep shine. The next tree followed suit, and the next, and the next. The oppressive blanket of darkness was stripped from their shoulders. But once more, none stopped to admire. There was no time.

The girl followed the column ahead without pause. She heard their footsteps, the breath that drifted from their lungs and frosted in the frigid air. She couldn’t stop, none of them could. If she stopped, the boy would tread on her heels and knock her into the mud. The boy behind him would step over her, and the boy behind him, and all the others behind. She would swallow the earth instead of air, and choke on darkness and cold. She only knew this from before. When the light had shone red, a boy had fallen. His limbs had gouged out tracks in the mud as his numb fingers tried to carve out handholds. There was no time to stop and help. So she walked. The embrace of the forest had muffled his screams, even as her feet trod over his flesh and bones. The column behind would still be walking over him. The earth had almost certainly stolen the life from his flesh, the desperate flailings slowing and stopping along with his heart. His absence was irrelevant. No one stopped to mourn, no one could. All had to walk.

She walked even as her feet grew numb. For each step, her foot sunk into the soft earth, swallowing it in frigid mud, until she pulled it from the mud into the biting wind. But still she stepped, one foot at a time. She followed the lights. Like the boy in front, and the boy behind, and all the others. Their silhouettes swayed in the hazy blue. She knew their names. She knew the foods they liked, the toys they hid in their beds, the games they loved. And they knew the same of her. But none spoke. None spoke but for the man only a few places behind her, and all the others scattered in the column. They spoke rarely, their gruff voices breaking through the whispering of wind and squelching of mud.

“Follow the lights,” they would shout, “follow the lights. Follow the lights.” And there was nothing else to follow. And so all followed, keeping their slow, steady place, through the dead of night.  
The lights on the trees faded without warning, the branches twisting and closing. They crushed the last rays of blue between their ancient fingers, drinking the false day. The men behind the girl still shouted their mantra.

“Follow the lights. Follow the lights. Follow the lights.” 

“They are the lights for the dead eyes.” The soft whisper stole into the girl's mind, but she walked unflinching through the darkened night.  
The next light bloomed from inside the trees. A trunk gave a slow groan and cracked open, an emerald green pouring from the splintered wood. The other trees broke apart too, slow moans of breaking wood the only protest. The long dead trees bent backwards, curving away from the path and revealing more of the moonless night above. 

“Follow the lights,” the men cried, “follow the lights. Follow the lights.”

“They cannot see the lights. They are not for them.” The girl clutched inside her thin wool jacket and felt a new warmth. She had brought an item with her. The men had told them before that there was nothing to be brought but the clothes on their backs. That the skin would be stripped from their chests as penance. But the girl did not listen, and the men did not find it. The stuffed doll was nestled in the folds of her jacket. A pocket etched into the left breast, hidden from prying eyes. It would speak rarely, in a voice so soft and quiet only she could hear. The night before she left it did speak. To hide it in her clothing, cloth interwoven into cloth. That it would accompany her on the journey of the lights. So it was tucked away in her jacket, and the men never saw.

A fork in the path was coming up, the thin track of mud splitting in two. The column followed to the right, twisting through a new stretch of glowing, broken trees. The left lead into coal-black silence.  
“Follow the lights,” came another shout from behind and in front, “follow the lights. Follow the lights.”

“The lights are the last your dead eyes will see. You will see a light greater than the stars in your sky. Then your eyes will fall into the soft mud and drown in blood and earth. Maybe they will be crushed under the weight of bones and blood. Maybe worms will feast on them, and savour your cracked and chewed bones for supper.”

“I don’t want to see the lights.” She whispered through cracked and dry lips. Her doll did not reply, nestled deep in her jacket. She turned her head to the side, looking through the ranks of long dead trees older than the village she came from. Past the fog of deep green there was nothing but dark, flat and black as an obsidian stone. No birds sang, no squirrels dug through the mud or scrambled up the ancient wood. Maybe she could run through the night when the lights next died. When no one would notice her absence, when hundreds of tiny feet would not crush her spine and dig her head into the soft earth. But something about the night unnerved her. The silence past the tramping of feet and the squelching of the mud. Beyond the soft breaths of the column, the rhythmic shouts of the men who lead and followed. And even further, into the stretch where not even the light reached, into the abyss where anything could lurk. 

The column slowed in front of her, the steady pace for once stopping. The girl slowed as well, craning her neck to the side to see past. Some ahead were walking on a log, stretching their small arms out to balance. The line had slowed, but still moved, waiting for the ones in front to cross. Before long, it was her turn. The log was as gnarled and black as the trees, but no branches stretched from its surface. She pulled her tiny hands from her jacket and placed them onto the log. It was cold and slick with dew, but still she heaved herself on top of it. Her foot slid, teetering over the edge. The green light did not reach to the bottom of the chasm, dying in the emptiness below. She had no time to hesitate, the boy behind her was already climbing up the log. She walked slowly and steadily, ignoring the pain in her cramping legs. She was three quarters across when the wind came with a vengeance, tearing branches off the trees and howling in her ears. Before her mud soaked feet could slip off the slick surface, she crouched and grabbed at the wood. Her nails dug into the log, driving in splinters that drew droplets of blood from her fingers. 

She didn’t fall. The boy in front did. The wind struck as he was taking a step, and his foot came off the log. He fell silently, his pale blue eyes cocked upwards. He plummeted for only a few moments before he was out of the reach of the light, devoured by the abyss below. The wind died as swiftly as it begun. As she was righting herself on the log, a faint crunch came from below. She gave a final look down at the green tinted darkness, and continued. She jumped off the log and landed on the ground with a twinge of relief and regret. Orange lights lit the path, pale glow blooming from the earth.

“His neck broke. A mercy few are afforded. He will not feel the teeth that rip the flesh from his bones, nor the insects that will burrow into his heart and lay their eggs. A new feast for those who live in the darkness.”

“Do you see the lights?” She asked, quickening her pace to rejoin the column. Another girl was in front of her now. She didn’t know if the boy once at her heels had fallen. It was easy to admit that she didn’t care. There was silence for a minute, silence apart from the footsteps and wind.

“I saw the lights before the parents of your parents drew breath into their lungs. I had legs of bone, and I walked this hallowed path. My eyes fell from my crushed skull. They are somewhere, buried in the earth that you tread. The eyes that your mother sowed for me see the lights, too. My eyes are dead, girl. Like yours.” 

“Follow the lights,” came the yell from all around, “follow the lights. Follow the lights.”

“No.” She said, half to herself, half to the voice that shared her mind. “I don’t want to follow. I want to live.” She turned towards the right, and stared into the grove that was stained a pale orange. Before her legs could move, the voice came back into her thoughts. No longer a whisper, but as though a knife was stabbed into her mind.

“These are the lights for the dead eyes. They guide you. The men only force your pace. Do you wish to stray from this path? You cannot see without the lights. The creatures of the dark live beyond here, in the groves and valleys where none have trod. Their eyes have sunk into their skulls and rotted in their heads. And yet they hunt. They hear the breath that rattles in your lungs from a stone’s throw away, and the pulsing of your blood twice as far. They smell the sweat on your skin, they feel when you shiver in their air. There is one not far. It hungers for your flesh. You would not get a quarter mile before it breaks your chest and swallows your heart. But it does not attack. It fears the lights.”

“Then what can I do?” She asked. She had turned back to the path, and kept her pace. But now her face was streaked with tears, tears that froze along their tracks. Her mind was quiet again, and she could only hear the wind and her feet. Her feet had long since gone numb, but she still took one step after another, following the pale orange glow. No one could stop.

The next three miles were in darkness. The orange had long since faded into nothing, and sound alone guided the column. Her throat was cracked and crying for moisture. But the only water was swallowed by the ground that she trod through, that now soaked through her shoes stained her numb feet. There was no time to stop and cup some water from the ground. There was never any time.  
The new light was paler than even the orange, a soft white glow that brought the darkness to dusk. It did not seem to bloom from anywhere. It did not come from the trees nor the earth, but simply existed. The light was so weak that the girl could only see the girl in front of her, and the boy behind. It looked like mist that crept through the trees, snaking and winding between the age old trunks. 

“This is the last light.” The hissing voice stole into her mind, but brought some comfort rather than fear. “The last light before the end, and the brightness that will block out everything.”

“Why don’t the men see the lights?” The girl didn’t care to quiet her voice. She didn’t need the doll to tell her that they were nearing the end. Her blood was running colder than the wind that howled all around her, a primal fear that she couldn’t shake. 

“Follow the lights,” came the final call, “follow the lights. We are not far. Follow the lights.”

“They are not dead. They will leave these woods, guided by instinct and fear. To guide the next ones, and the next, and the next.”

“Why?” She was met again with silence. A moment after, a cry ahead pierced her ears. A shriek that ran through the woods, not far ahead. She craned her neck upwards and felt the breath come from her lungs in a gasp. Towering above the trees, only a quarter mile away was a single point of light. It shone with such brilliance that she had to turn away and stare at it half lidded. Other lights came to life below it, burning through the darkness and bringing countless colours. 

“It hungers.” The lights winked out one by one, and the greatest one lowered itself towards the trees. The pace of the line quickened, almost at a jog. The girl followed, her heart thudding faster and harder in her chest. The misty light had died, but the glare from ahead, the glare that cracked through the trees, was more than enough to see.

“No.” The girl whispered. “I don’t want to.”

“You must. Something must slake its thirst. Something must fill its belly.” The line grew closer, winding through the trees. Another scream came from ahead. The girl stared ahead, eyes widening. She glanced to her right. The trees were cracked and broken, hiding the darkness that lay beyond the intense glow. She turned back and the light drowned her vision. The girl in front stepped back with a cry, her voice dying almost instantly. The great pinpoint of light rose into the air, towering above the girl with the doll. She couldn’t see through the burning brightness. She heard its breath, louder than any hurricane. She smelt the rot and blood that came from its maw, remnants of the column stuck between its twisted teeth. It snaked an arm towards her. She didn’t see, she couldn’t see, but she knew.  
Before the fingers clutched around her, the girl ran. The hand buried in the mud where she stood only a moment before, showering the girl in slick earth. A bellow rang through the forest, loud and low, rattling in her ears and shaking the ground. She leapt over a shattered branch and ran into the forest.

“No. Stop. What do you think you are doing?” The men that lead were yelling, screaming, the children she walked with before sobbing. There was no time to listen to that. The only thing she listened for was a thud that stirred the earth. It was followed by another, and another. The light at her heels was getting brighter. She looked behind and saw the beast’s tail drawing from the ground. It started white, then came orange, green, blue and red. She turned her gaze back to the forest, stepping in time with the shaking footsteps of the thing that followed. 

“You are angering it. The sacrifice has failed.” The girl barely listened to the doll. She slid down a hill, sending up sprays of mud under her feet. Her blood was running hot now, the feeling in her feet seeping back. The thing behind her groaned, long, low and loud. It wasn’t far behind. The light from its face lit the path for her. The light for the dead eyes. 

It planted an arm right before the girl, three times as wide as the largest trunk in the forest and as white as snow. She slid past it, dodging around the pale flesh and the gnarled trees. It groaned again.

“What do you hope to achieve? Its light burns bright in your eyes. You are slated for execution. The lights can only be seen by those who will one day feel its teeth. It will crush your bones to powder and suck the blood from your veins. You run, but you can never escape. No one can.” The girl reached into her wool jacket and grabbed the doll. It burned at her touch, running hotter than anything she had felt. Wincing, she curled her fingers around it and tore it from the pocket it was nestled in. She threw the shrieking doll into the light behind her, the voice in her head fading and dying. The steps grew closer together and heavier, the ground heaving and mud rippling. The girl still ran, as the hill sloped to flat ground. But as she took a step, her foot sunk deep into the mud. It slid further and further into the earth, only stopping until her leg was buried at the knee. She lost her balance and fell face first into the frigid earth. The girl planted her hands into the ground, trying to push herself out of the mud’s embrace, but they only sunk too. One last groan rang in her ears. She felt a hot breath along her back, moisture budding along her woollen jacket. Her eyes saw nothing but mud and tears. The light that shone behind burned bright as her body broke beneath its teeth. Her dead eyes never saw that light again, buried in the churned mud and her own foamy blood. 

All could see the light now. The column that had scattered into the darkness saw it, and too the men that led them. On a hill many miles away, a young man and his wife saw the light. They admired the brilliant sheen and conspired to make a wish. They saw the light that shone for the world to see. The light that all the world would see.

The light for the dead eyes.


End file.
